Clintasha
by theperksofbeingabookfreak
Summary: In which Thorn (my OC) finds herself in S.H.I.E.L.D.
1. Chapter 1

I walked slowly down the concrete corridor, feeling the cold seep into the soles of my bare feet. The shirt I was wearing was a little bit too big, the hem came to my mid-thigh and the sleeves dangled uselessly past my fingers, brushing the ill-fitting pair of pants hanging off my slim hips. I stopped for a moment to roll up the sleeves to a more manageable length.

I looked around at all of the people rushing past. None of them looked anywhere but straight ahead. Probably too busy to notice the small girl wandering around their…place.

I don't remember how I got here, but I do remember what was before. Horrifying images flitted their way through my mind, sending an involuntary shiver up my spine and a frightened expression to my face. As I recalled my past experiences in fast forward, I fought to banish any traces of expression from my face for fear of being noticed.

I continued to take in my surroundings after I had schooled my face into an emotionless mask once more. I suddenly realize that everybody is wearing the same clothes. A pair of loose grey pants and an equally shapeless dark grey shirt with an odd looking logo on the right shoulder. So everyone belongs to this place, this organisation of the baggy clothing and seemingly robotic people.

I squeak as I am knocked to the ground by a man pushing and shoving his way hurriedly through the stream of people. I dart to a nearby doorway to avoid getting knocked over again. Now, thoroughly confused to my whereabouts, I pull my knees to my chest, prop my chin on my folded arms and watched the ants go marching by.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hey" A feminine voice pulls me from my apparent sleep.

I snap my eyes open and whip my head up to find a face very close to mine. Too close. Without thinking about it, I jump up from the doorway faster than the woman could comprehend, and ran. I ran through the corridors, dodging the jumble of people with practiced ease as I tried to put as much distance as I could between myself and the lady. If she shouted after me, I didn't hear it. Tears blurred my vision as I sprinted my way through the maze of walls. After running for a little longer I push open the closest door as quietly as I can, wiping the tears of panic off my face. I turn to face the interior of the room and am surprised by what I see. Before me lay a massive space. Most of the floor was covered in some sort of heavy-duty exercise mat. In one corner was a boxing ring, currently occupied by two men trading heavy blows. In the opposite corner was a multitude of weights. Quite a few men were lifting the barbells, trying to impress the women beating at the punching bags across the room. The only thing I had eyes for, however, was the colossal climbing frame that stood in the corner furthest from where I was standing. The frame took up most of the corner it was in, reaching from floor to ceiling. The iron bars of the structure were seemingly arranged to resemble something of a doily spider's web. The best thing though? It was unoccupied. Despite having no clue to my location, I decide that the climbing frame is the best choice in my current situation. I just need to reach it without getting caught. I had a feeling these people wouldn't be very kind if they found me sneaking around.

I creep slowly around the outside of the room, sticking to the meager shadows as best I can. I make it to the base of the climbing frame just as everybody files out the doors. Maybe they were having dinner? There were no windows in the building, so it was nigh impossible to tell the time of day, but my stomach informed me it was some type of mealtime.

I start to climb, making my way to the middle of the iron web, getting as close to the corner of the room as I can. If and when people came back, I wanted to be hidden.

Three-quarters of the way into the metal forest, the lights were flicked off, plunging me into complete darkness. I froze, the absence of light bringing on another myriad of images, this time some were accompanied by sound.

"You know what to do. Show me what a good girl you are." The man handed me a gun.

"No" I whispered, trembling hard.

"Kill her!" The man screamed, his putrid breath making my eyes water. "And if you don't I will kill you both, much less kindly!"

BANG!

"Good."

I couldn't help flinching when he patted my shoulder.

"No!" He slapped my across the face. "You do not move!"

"Yes" I whimpered.

Another slap.

"Strong voice! Blank face! You will give yourself away."

"Yes"

"Ok. Now leave. One of the men will escort you to you room."

I started walking toward the only door in the dimly lit room, trying not to look at the steadily growing pool of blood underneath the slumped body.

"You. Will. Say. Thank you!" A sharp kick enunciated each word.

"Th-thank you" I coughed out, struggling to pull myself off the ground.

An iron grip encircled my upper left arm and I was hauled roughly to my feet, dragged to the door and shoved through. I watched the ground rush up to meet my face and I closed my eyes, readying myself for an impact that never came.

As I slowly came to my senses I realized I had collapsed and was draped over a bar, and that my body weight was the only thing keeping me from falling, very painfully, to the floor below. I clung to the cold metal frame as if my life depended on it, which it probably did at that moment.

I breathe deeply a few times to clear my head of the residual fear and to calm my racing heart.

I resume my climb. Slowly and carefully I manoeuvre myself to the back-most corner in the darkness, moving more confidently when my eyes adjust to the lack of light.

I wriggle through a particularly small gap and am slightly surprised to find a blanket sitting on a hammock-like thing strung up between two bars.

Someone had been here before me. Somebody small, though not a child, as the blanket, when I curled into it, smelled slightly of women's perfume. I press my back as far into the corner as I can and lay down, hoping the owner of the perfume wouldn't come back anytime soon


	3. Chapter 3

I awoke to my senses tingling. Somebody was here with me. I listen intently as the person, a woman, climbs the frame deftly. As she nears my hiding place I silently untangle myself from the blanket and tense my muscles, ready to fight if need be. A smallish person shaped shadow slips through the entrance to the back corner and freezes. Two bright emerald green orbs glow in the darkness, staring at me closely. I stare back with my equally as luminescent ice blue eyes.

"Hello." A slightly Russian voice broke the silence.

"Привет" I say, my voice rough from disuse. _Hello._

I could hear a small gasp as I reply.

A small torch flickers on and I shield my eyes with an arm to avoid the pervading light. Once my eyes had gotten used to the bright environment I took time to study the woman in front of me.

She had fiery red hair pulled into a loose knot on top of her head and brilliant green eyes. Her face was pretty without being fake and she was dressed the same way I was.

"They've been looking for you" the woman says.

I nod. I could understand her perfectly well, but I didn't want to talk any more than was absolutely necessary.

She started moving toward me with a fluid, dancer-like grace; the same way I did. I try to press myself further into the corner as she approaches. _Maybe holing myself up in here wasn't such a good idea. I have nowhere to escape._

"You're like me" she says in an odd tone, stopping her advance suddenly.

I am careful to keep my face neutral.

"Your collarbone" she gestures to my exposed shoulder.

The loose shirt had slipped, no surprise there. I flick my eyes down to my chest, just seeing the edge of something black on my collarbone. I ghost my hand over the mark, remembering the pain of it getting put there.

I am jerked from my reverie by the woman moving again, this time to pull her shirt slightly to the side, revealing a black mark similar to mine. I move closer to her to get a better look at the tattoo she bore. I recognise the sweet smelling perfume just before I reach her. I quickly flick my eyes to the blanket and back to the woman's face, making the connection.

"I come here when I can't sleep" she says, catching onto my recognition.

I nod in affirmation.

"I…remember things"

I nod again.

"I have to tell them you're here" she changes tack, obviously uncomfortable talking about herself.

I reverse quickly, shaking my head. I don't want to go back.

"Come on. I won't let them take you back" she says, as if she had read my mind.

"I know what the rooms would do to you if they found you again."

I continue to back myself into the corner as she advances slowly.

"We have to go before it gets too late, or before they find us here. Director Fury won't be very kind to you."

Well, 'fury' meant something like face-reddening anger, so I decided to make things easier for the both of us. _Not._

"Да" I said in a small voice, feigning fear that wasn't entirely fictional. _Yes._

"Идите сюда" she says. _Come here._

"Нет" I shake my head. _No__._

She frowns.

"Ты первый, я буду следовать" _You_ _first__, __I_ _will_ _follow__._

It was her turn to disagree.

"Нет, ты первый" _No__, __you_ _first__._

"Agent Romanoff, who are you speaking to?"

My eyes widen in fear and I freeze. They found me, I was going back to the rooms. _No._

"Nobody, just myself Agent Sitwell" She stares at me.

"You do know you aren't supposed to be here at this time of night?"

"Yes Agent Sitwell, perfectly aware" she answers in a condescending tone of her own, still staring at me, daring me to move and give myself away.

"Okay. Goodnight Agent Romanoff"

"Goodbye Sitwell" she deadpans.

The echo of the closing door rings around the room and she huffs out an exasperated breath. She rubs at her eyes with the heels of her palms and yawns.

That is all the opening I need.

I launch myself up onto the bar above and scramble to gain purchase on the slippery metal.

"You're fast."

She is still looking at me. I can't seem to look away from her either.

"That is how I escaped" I rasp.

Her eyes widen ever so slightly.

"Escape?"

I nod.

"How?"

I shake my head and clamber further upward, until I can't see her anymore. A silent tear runs down my cheek as I remember all their faces. So cold. So…vacant. So dead. I wipe the tear away savagely. No emotions. I close myself down from anything and everything. From now, I will not talk to anyone, or show any type of emotion. Until I escape again.

Despite being horrible and cruel, the Red Rooms had taught me a few things. That man had called the red head 'agent', so I was in a government organisation base. There were three likely candidates for the position of 'who the hell's base am I in?' and I doubted I was in the midst of CIA or FBI agents. So that left S.H.I.E.L.D. It fitted. 'Director' Angry man and a flame haired lady with the same tattoo as me. Romanoff, he had called her. A Russian name for a Russian lady.


	4. Chapter 4

I feel a tap on my shoulder and my eyes snap open. I wasn't meant to fall asleep.

"Come down, you're going to fall." The Romanoff lady crouches a few feet from me. _She knows about space._

"You can come to my room and sleep there until the morning. Then we'll have to tell Fury you're here."

I stare at her for a while before making my decision. I nod. _I will be gone by morning._

She turns around and makes her way quickly down the climbing frame with practiced ease, choosing to trust me. I wait for a few seconds before following her.

We reach to floor in half the time it took for me to get up the frame.

"This way" she says quietly as she opens the door. A pale light spills in from the hallway and we walk with silent footsteps out of the big room and into the maze of corridors.

"I'm Natasha" the woman says as she stops at a door, grey like almost everything else in this place.

I nod. Again.

"What's your name?"

I shake my head. Not yet.

"Okay."

I'm glad she doesn't push me.

She does, however, push the door open and walk through, holding it open and waiting for me to follow. I slip quietly into the room, surveying it in the blink of an eye.

Quite small in size, two rooms: a tiny bathroom that led off the bedroom and the bedroom itself. It was sparsely furnished with no personal items in sight, just a bed, (with grey linen of course) a wardrobe set into the wall and a digital clock that read 2:57.

"You can have the bed" Natasha says, pulling open the wardrobe and retrieving a blanket from the bottom.

I shake my head vehemently and tug the blanket away from her, wrapping it around my shoulders and sitting down in the corner furthest from the bed.

"Suit yourself" she says, peeling back the bed covers and sliding in.

She turns off the light and it is dark once more, save the display of the clock and the sliver of light creeping out from beneath the bathroom door. She hates the dark too.

We lay in silence for a while, listening to the others breathing, trying to judge whether they are asleep or not. I decide to trust her.

"Спокойной ночи Наташа." _Good night Natasha._

"Спокойной ночи" _Good_ _night__._

"Торн. Меня зовут Торн" I say on impulse. _Thorn. My name is Thorn._

"Хорошо. Спокойной ночи Торн" I can feel her smile at her small victory. _Okay. Good night Thorn._

Neither of us sleep very soundly that night, for fear of the other having a weapon.


	5. Chapter 5

The digital clock display reads 4:11 when Natasha moves. I tense, ready to spring into action if needed. She shuffles across the floor and pushes open the bathroom door, growling slightly at the bright light. I relax when I know she's not trying to kill me.

Now it is time for me to leave. I have been thinking of ways to escape all night and my best option would be through the vents. I have no qualms in leaving, even after Natasha has done so much for me; the Red Rooms teach you not to get attached.

I unfold myself from the corner and stretch my cramped limbs, making an appreciative sound when my vertebrae pop and crackle. I stride quickly over to the bed and hop onto it, reaching up to loosen the screws on the vent cover above my head. I slide the cover into the vent as quietly as I can, bounce twice to gather slight momentum and launch myself into the dark tunnels. I slip the vent cover back in place just as Natasha walks out of the bathroom. She stops dead as soon as she realises I am not present.

I turn around and start crawling silently in the opposite direction so I don't have to see her reaction to my absence. The metal of the vent is warm under my hands without being too hot, and there is a pleasantly lukewarm breeze floating through some of the intersections when I come to them.

The man must hear me before I see him, because he attempts to pin me as I round the corner. I easily evade capture with a quick roll and find myself in what must be the source of the warm breeze; the heating room. The man lunges again and this time he gets lucky, snagging the hem of the oversized shirt and pulling me towards him with a strong tug. I flip over him and hear a ripping sound. With my shirt at an acceptable length, the fight begins in earnest. I push myself off a wall and into the man, trying to overpower him by force. He grabs onto my shoulders and uses my momentum to slam me onto the ground, dazing me slightly. I clear my head with a swift shake and latch onto his wrists, twisting my agile body so he turns sharply and cracks his head against a wall. Now it is his turn to be disoriented. Whilst he is recovering on the ground I try to make a quick getaway, but, alas, to no prevail. This man was quicker than I gave him credit for and, within a few short seconds, had me pinned on the floor with my hands contorted painfully behind my back.


	6. Chapter 6

"Who are you?" He says. His accent is odd, I can't quite place it.

I growl and thrash in his tight grip.

"Okay then. Shall we do this the easy way or the hard way?"

I stay silent.

"Alright, the easy way."

He maintains his inflexible grip on my wrists as he gets to his feet, pulling me up with him. Once I have regained my balance I crouch quickly and sweep his feet from underneath him, sending him crashing to the ground. Unfortunately, he still has a hold on my arms, so I go down with him.

"The hard way it is then." He grunts as he pushes himself to his feet for the second time in a minute.

He unrolls my sleeves and ties my wrists tightly with them, making sure they are secured with the ripped piece of shirt. He takes hold of my shoulders and I flinch, recalling a memory so similar it makes me want to throw up.

"I'm not going to hurt you with your hands tied like this. I fight fair." He reassures me.

I say nothing and he marches me out the heating room door, closing it behind him.

"We have to see Fury"

I growl at his name. _Who the hell is he?_

The man gently shoves me into an elevator and hits a button for a higher floor. We ride in silence and I take the opportunity to study him.

His face is well tanned and glistens with a thin sheen of sweat. He is dressed in what seems to be the standard issue clothes here; the grey shirt and pants combo. He runs a hand through his sandy blonde hair, messing it up even further. He turns his pale blue eyes on me when he catches me staring.

"I'm Clint"

The elevator dings before I can acknowledge him in any way.

"Come on." Clint takes my right upper arm and leads me out of the elevator, to a large black door.

His hand is halfway to the door handle when he notices my tattoo.

"You're like Tasha" he points at my collarbone.

_Tasha. As in Natasha?_

"I gotta tell her, she'll want to know" he says, as if I will answer.

"She already knows"

We both whip our heads around at the sound of her voice.

"Tasha" Clint's face lights up immediately.

I keep my profile blank.

"Hi Clint" she smiles and walks closer to us.

"I was going to take her to see Fury" Clint says, jerking his head toward me.

"Good idea. I found her late last night in training room seven and I thought I would let her sleep in my room until morning."

Clint's eyebrows shoot into his hairline.

'You let her sleep in you room?"

"Yeah." Natasha mumbles and shrugs, "she needed a place to sleep and I felt slightly responsible"

She gestures to my shoulder.

"Oh Tasha, you know it's not your fault" Clint lets go of me to put his arms around Natasha's shoulders.

"But I could have done something Clint. I could have made it better." She says, burying her face in his chest as she hugs him back. Her head fits neatly under his chin and their bodies align perfectly.

Oddly enough, I am fixated by this small gesture of love and have no desire whatsoever to make an escape.


	7. Chapter 7 (not part of the story)

This isn't part of the story, okay? This is just something I wrote whilst listening to this: watch?v=giTob-5IENg

Listen to it and try to imagine.

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I can imagine this playing from a music box as a young Natasha Romanoff dances.

And then cut to a scene where she is dancing to the same song, but dead-eyed and in sync with a group of other girls.

Another scene: all the other girls are laying broken and twisted on the ground beneath Natasha, who maintains her perfect pose even when the lights go out.

Another scene: No sounds, just Natasha running down streets and alleys, the plaster and brick flying as the bullets fight to stop her escape.

Another scene: Natasha huddling in an alley in Budapest. She has the music box and is listening to it. The second time she plays it, she gets up and starts to dance. The same dance she used to dance as a child. And that is how Clint finds her. That is what happened in Budapest.


	8. Chapter 8

My hands however, are a different story. My fingertips are numb and my palms are tingling. I expertly manipulate my hands so the bonds loosen slightly. When they are sufficiently roomy, I slide each hand out in turn, massaging them to try to regain some feeling.

I feel two sets of eyes on me and anticipate the question.

"What are you doing?"

I raise my head and an eyebrow along with it. What does it look like?

"You have to leave those on. We're seeing Fury now"

I sigh inwardly and hold my wrists out.

"Hand it over."

I give the strip of shirt to Clint and place my arms side-by-side, wrists facing down. He steps forward to bind my hands again, but I have an idea. Before Natasha can shout a warning, I flick my hands up and my knuckles crack against the underside of his chin. I had done it with enough force to make him dizzy, but not enough to knock him out.

I turned on my heel as he fell to his knees. I could hear Natasha telling him to take his hands off his face so she could see as I started to run through the seemingly endless corridors. I didn't know the direction I was headed, but for the hundredth time in the short space of a few hours, I wished I knew how to get out. I saw a group of people walking toward me and panicked slightly, opening the door closest and slipping inside the room. It turned out be an office. With an occupant.

"May I help you?"

The speaker is male, dressed nicely in a business suit. He has brown hair and a kind face.

I shake my head and ready myself to open the door and face the crowd of people in the hallway. I ignore the man's protests as I take a deep breath and twist the knob, only to find myself face-to-face with Clint and Natasha.

Oh shit.

I walk backwards into the room, never taking my eyes off the two people who were advancing with practiced ease.

"Oh, hi Clint, Natasha." The man behind the desk nods to the two agents.

"Hi Phil." They say simultaneously.

"So what's happening?" He stands up and walks around the front of his desk, leaning on it as he continues to look around.

Clint, who has positioned himself in front of the door answers as Natasha slowly edges closer to me. "I have about as much of an idea as you do. All I know is that she has tried to knock me out several times already today."

I feel the cold glass of a window press against my back and I make a decision. If I can't get out, I might as well die. The outcome would be the same.

Phil makes a face in response to Clint, "well I would too if I were in a completely new place with no recollection of how I got there."

I lunge for a paperweight on the corner of Phil's desk. Natasha grabs me as I smash it into the window, shattering the glass outwards. I wrest myself from her grip roughly and launch backwards into thin air. I feel weightless as I spin and flip gracefully. If I was going to die, I might as well try to enjoy it. I felt as if I were flying. I just wished my life had been spent a little better. The Red Rooms had never been pleasant, they were horrific, actually. But they were the place I had spent my entirely too short life in, and I felt guilty for missing their confines in my last moments. I banished those thoughts and focussed on spending the rest of my life in freedom.

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>It has come to my attention (thanks for notifying me Immaduckhatingpansycake!) that the first edition of this little part came out in code. I am really sorry for that. I am still getting the hang of using everything, and it may take a while. Also, sorry these chapters are so short! This story has turned out to be decidedly AU, as I started writing it before The Winter Soldier came out. I would like to add the rest of the Avengers to it as well, what do you guys think? Some feedback from the readers would be brilliant- I am a pretty awful writer and would like to be able to improve. Thanks for reading! Remember to commentreview!


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